Sissy Diaries: Hair Woes

It’s been a minute since I’ve written a proper entry. The last time I remember doing this sort of thing was in third grade, when I told you about my crush on Gabi. Back then, I thought a crush was just when you liked someone a lot, and I thought Gabi was the best, so that meant I had a crush on her, right? Then puberty hit, all of those hormones started doing their thing, and I figured out that a crush is something a bit more than just liking someone a lot. I haven’t written in a “diary” since I was a kid — after puberty, I called them journal entries instead. “Journaling” felt more adult than “writing in my diary,” and once I started sprouting leg hair, I figured I should claim my adult status.

A lot has changed in the intervening time since I’ve written anything here, but it’s fitting that I’m restarting now. At the age of 26, my singular quest in life — other than publishing my first book, creating my own TV show, and making it in Hollywood as a nonbinary actor — is to get back in touch with who I was when I was four. I want to reconnect with what my gender and identity felt like in my early childhood bliss, before shame and the gender binary had their way with my sense of self.

I have a lot to tell you, diary; a lot to catch you up on. And it’s gonna take a minute. I’ll do my best to tell you what I’m thinking about, who I’m crushing on, and any hot gossip I’ve overheard. I’ll write about my victories and defeats, the drama that’s going on in our hectic world, and who I’m fighting with on Twitter. The best thing about you, diary, is that you’ll always agree that I was in the right.

Now that I’m a Los Angeles queer, I’m feeling a similar pressure that all of my actor friends are experiencing: the pressure of pilot season. Though it isn’t as important as it used to be, pilot season is the time of year when TV networks put together an initial cast and shoot sample episodes of shows that they’re considering buying. Pilot season is a big deal — while you never know if the show you’ve booked will actually get picked up for a full season, it’s when the main cast of the show is set.

It’s also the time when actors become especially worried about our looks. Ostensibly, pilot season is when you should look your cutest, because it’s when you’ll have the most auditions, the most eyeballs on you, and the most producers deciding whether you’re hot or not. All of this judgment and measuring up can be tough on any actor’s self-esteem.

This year, pilot season has me thinking a lot about my hair. I started growing my hair out during the summer of 2015, so it’s about two and a half years long now. Gorgeous, beautiful brown curls that cascade effortlessly over my shoulders, my hair is luscious. It’s marvelous. It’s sumptuous and delectable. I love it. But it’s also a problem, dear diary, and not just because it takes a ton of upkeep. It’s a problem because, as a male-bodied nonbinary lady, my long hair doesn’t do me any favors when it comes to getting cast in shows.

Jacob Tobia

Let me break it down. During the course of pilot season, I will be lucky if there is a single series regular role written for a gender nonconforming person. The last time I auditioned for one of those, they ended up giving the role to a super gorgeous trans woman and then writing out the character’s gender nonconformity altogether. So even when these roles do exist, they aren’t all that promising.

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Other than Asia Kate Dillon on Billions, goddess bless them, nonbinary roles in Hollywood basically aren’t real. If I want to play a nonbinary character, I literally have to create my own show — something that I’m working on, but it takes a minute. In the meantime, the odds of booking a gender nonconforming or nonbinary role this pilot season are as good as the odds of winning the lottery.

This means that I’m left auditioning for roles that are either written as male or female. And, because I have thick, dark facial hair, no one is going to audition me for a female role. They just aren’t. They might rewrite the role to be gender nonconforming if I’m lucky, but they won’t cast me as a woman. The reality is, if I want to act in any TV shows for the foreseeable future, I’m going to need to audition for male roles. And I don’t totally mind that. I’m an actor after all, so I can play lots of different identities and characters, cis men included. It’s just that, if I want to book roles as a man, it’s probably best if I look a bit more like one.

Which brings me back to my hair. Right now, my hair is notably feminine, making it harder for casting directors, many of whom have little to no imagination, to see me as a “guy’s guy.” If I want to audition for male roles, it’s going to be a lot easier for me if I just cut this shit off and go back to having short hair. I mean, gender is fake in the first place. There is nothing inherently masculine or feminine about either long or short hair, because masculinity and femininity aren’t real. I can still be effortlessly feminine and pretty and sexy with short hair. I had short hair for years, and I totally rocked it.

So I’m not 100 percent sure yet, but I think I’m gonna do it. I think I’m going to chop off this hair and butch it up to land some male roles. I mean, I don’t think I want to play a soldier or a WWE wrestler or anything, but there’s plenty on the traditionally-male character spectrum that I’m interested in. I’d make a great corrupt banker from the ‘80s, nerdy journalist from the ‘60s, or debonair heterosexual lover in 1920s New York. I’d also make a fabulous alien or wizard or Spock from Star Trek. There are a lot of dude roles that I’d kill in.

And if that means cutting my hair? So be it. I’m at the stage in my gender evolution where I’m finally comfortable flexing the boundaries a little. At long last, I’m secure enough in my nonbinary identity to feel comfortable playing a cisgender dude on camera and showing up to the premiere in a floor-length gown. My femme ain’t going anywhere, even without the hair.

Plus, if we’re being real, diary, gay boys (albeit the progressive ones who are okay getting a little lipstick in their beard when we make out) are gonna be much more interested in me with short hair. The second I chop my locks off, those fruits are gonna jump right back into my smoothie. And I have a crush or two, so that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Xoxo,
Sissy

Jacob Tobia is a writer, producer, and author of the forthcoming memoir Sissy with Putnam Books at Penguin Random House. Named in the Forbes 30 Under 30, Jacob served as the Social Media Producer on Season 4 of the Emmy Award-winning series Transparent. Jacob's work and activism have been featured in TIME Magazine, The New York Times, The Washington Post, BuzzFeed, Playboy, and The Guardian, among others.

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